Stubborn Skin
by snarkvenger
Summary: "I ain't supposed to go downstairs when Pa's mad—Mama says that all the time, says that I just gotta keep outta his way 'cause if I don't bother him than he ain't gonna do nothin' to me." The life and times of Merle Dixon, as told by Merle Dixon. (Auto)biography. Preseries. Dixoncentric.


******Disclaimer: **I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.

Just a little piece I've been meaning to work on; my plan is for this to be a sort of (auto)biography of Merle Dixon's life from early childhood to the start of the apocalypse. Because I love Merle way, way too much for my own good. I've approximated his age in the series to be around 50, so for this story he was born in 1963. That puts him at about 4/5 years old for this opening chapter. I hope you all enjoy it! Reviews are majorly appreciated!

Fair warning that this is a Dixoncentric story. There will be swearing and other harsh and potentially offensive language, mentions of drug and alcohol use/abuse, physical and verbal domestic and child abuse, and sexual themes. The rating _may_ go up depending on how graphic things get.

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**PART I**

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"_The whiskey on your breath / Could make a small boy dizzy;  
But I hung on like death: / Such waltzing was not easy._"  
Theodore Roethke

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**My Papa's Waltz  
February 1968**

"_No_!"

It's Mama's voice, and it sounds real scared. Pa says somethin' to her, growlin' like some kind'a angry dog, but I can't tell what he says. I do know that his voice is doin' that thing it does when he drinks a lot'a that stuff that don't smell good. His drawl's real thick and his words are runnin' into each other like they're goin' too fast for his tongue. He's real loud, too, even when he ain't yellin', like he's got one of those volume knobs, like radios got, somewhere and someone turned it up as high as it goes.

I'm sittin' on the top of the stairs, listenin' to 'em. There's a really loud _crash_! and Mama starts cryin' and Pa tells her to, "Shut up, y'stupid bitch!" and that just makes her cry more. My chest feels real tight, like it's hurtin' for her, and when I hear another _slap_! I jump on my feet.

I ain't supposed to go downstairs when Pa's mad—Mama says that all the time, says that I just gotta keep outta his way 'cause if I don't bother him than he ain't gonna do nothin' to me. But I don't like hearin' Mama cryin'. I sneak down the steps real quiet, be in' careful of the really squeaky ones, and I creep across the living room floor. The kitchen door's open just a little, enough that I can see Pa's back, his shoulders set in that strong way of his and his fists balled up at his sides. His shoulders are movin' like he's breathin' real hard and I get worried for a second 'cause I don't see Mama. She's there, though, on the floor, kinda curled up on herself with her face in her hands.

He takes a step towards her and she shrinks back like she's tryn'a make herself smaller. I think that maybe she wants to make herself invisible or somethin', so that he can't find her to hurt her again. He slaps her again, right across the face, and I can't stop the gasp that comes outta my throat. I think Pa hears me 'cause he gets real still. Mama lets out this little breath and I think it's relief because he ain't tryn'a hit her anymore. But then he growls again.

"Thought you but tha' brat t'bed," he snaps. Mama doesn't say nothin'. She just stares at him all wide-eyed and worried. Her breath starts getting' really fast. "Huh?!" Pa demands, getting' real close to her face. She makes this sorta sqeakin' sound and presses her back against the cabinet door and then Pa spits at the ground next to her and he turns around.

"N-No," Mama stammers, but she's too late. Pa sees him and I see him, too. I meet his eyes through the crack in the door and he looks madder than I've ever seen him before. He stomps right up to the door and throws it all the way open so that there's nothin' separatin' him from me.

"Th'fuck y'lookin' at, boy?" he snaps and I jump a little, wringin' my hands, watchin' him. I don't know how to answer him.

"Leave 'im alone," Mama begs. She's still on the floor, on her knees, reachin' out like she's tryn'a pull Pa back. There's tears still drippin' down her cheeks and her voice cracks a little when she speaks.

"Shut up!" Pa yells at her within' lookin' at her. His eyes are still on mine, boring into me. "I asked y'a question," he says. I open my mouth to say somethin' but no sound comes out. I try again but the same thing happens so I just shut up lips tight. "Y'stupid 'r somethin'?" Pa asks. I shake my head real fast—I ain't stupid. "Huh?" he says. I shake my head again and his lip curls up into this real angry snarl. He clenches his fists so that I can see all the muscles movin' all the way up his arm. His veins are poppin' out and he's makin' that growlin' sound way at the back of his throat. "Speak, boy!" he yells. He's walkin' towards me and I step back, my eyes dartin' all around, lookin' for a way out. "Ya look'it me when I'm talkin't'y'," Pa demands. I freeze in my tracks. When I raise my eyes to do as I'm told his hand collides with cheek. He hits so hard I stumble back. My feet get caught on each other and I can't catch my balance so I wind up crashin' down onto the floor.

My cheek stings and when I put my hand to it the skin's hot. Mama's cryin' really hard now, beggin' for Pa to _please, stop, just stop, leave 'im alone, Will, he didn't do nothin'_. Pa doesn't listen to her. His hand slams right into my face again and I'm seein' stars when his voice swims through the haze.

"Git up," he demands. I look up at him to see he's got his hands on his hips and his jaw set all serious and eyes narrowed at me. "Ya deaf, too, boy?" he snarls and I shake my head fast and push myself onto my feet. "C'mere, boy!" Pa barks and I nod, just a little, and I take a couple steps towards him. "C'mon," he says and I walk 'til I'm right up in front of him. His nostrils flare and his eyes are still real angry, maybe angrier than before, and Mama's still cryin' and I can see a vein pulsin' in Pa's forehead. He grabs me by the shoulders, knocks me off balance so that I fall into his legs.

I grab fistfuls of his jeans, tryin' to push myself back up, but Pa's got a real strong hold on me and he shakes me. He shoves me and I tumble backwards, almost falling right over again. I don't, though, because I'm holdin' onto him. That makes him madder, I think, because he kicks me off of him. I guess there's tears wellin' up in my eyes because my visions gets all blurry and Pa's tellin' me to "Quit tha'fuckin' shit, boy," so I sniff and I swipe at my eyes to stop it.

Then he grabs me, harsh, his rough hands holdin' fast to my shirt, and I'm squirmin' in his arms as he throws me right over his shoulder. The whole time he's tellin' me to quit fightin' 'im, to just cut it out because it ain't gonna help me none. He stomps up the stairs and I go from wringlin' to grabbin' onto his shirt really tight because it feels like I'm gonna fall. He takes me into my room—the bed's all undone, 'cause I was supposed to be sleepin', and I almost was 'fore I heard Pa and Mama downstairs. He dumps me right onto to the bed and he tells me to, "Stay put now, y'stupid boy," and then he slams the door, leavin' me in the pitch dark.

I don't like the dark much. My cheek's still stingin' where he slapped me and sides hurt where he was holdin' me. I kinda feel like cryin', but Pa says _Dixons don't cry_. So I just sniff it back like I did before. It's quiet downstairs for a while, 'side from Mama still sniffle sometimes. I sit there, just listenin', wantin' to go down and tell her it's gonna be okay but bein' too scared of Pa to do it. Mama always says that when Pa gets real mad like that it's best to just to what he says, 'cause then he won't hurt you. Or at least, he won't hurt you too bad.

An hour later I think I hear Pa's boots stompin' across the floor, and then the door slams shut. Another hour and I hear Mama's footsteps comin' up the stairs. I'm supposed to be asleep so I dive under the covers and I fake it just in time for her to open up the door and peek inside. She don't say nothin'—just stands there, watchin' me I guess. It seems like a real long time 'fore she sighs this really long sigh and finally shuts the door.

Pa ain't home the next mornin'. When I walk downstairs I see Mama on the couch. She's got all these blacks and blues all over her arms. I think she's tryin' to cover 'em up with her sweater 'cause she's tuggin' at her sleeves, but I still see 'em. There's some around her neck, too, and she's got a band-aid on her cheek.

I climb up on the couch next to her and I ask her what she's doin'. "M'lookin' at the snow," she says. Her voice sounds far away, like she ain't really sittin' next to me or something. It does that sometimes. Like she's there, her body's there, but her mind ain't. I asked her once if that what daydreamin' was 'cause I'd her talkin' about it before. She said it's kinda like that, but not really. I don't get that answer much. Either it is or it ain't. She tried to explain it to me, sayin' it was sorta like bein' inbetween bein' awake and bein' asleep. It's like daydreamin' but a little extra. It still didn't make no sense, but I just nodded my head like I got it because I didn't want to hurt her feelings or nothin'.

I fold my arms over the back of the couch and rest my chin on 'em so I can look out the window. The snow fallin' looks real pretty. Mama always liked the snow, said she used to love to play in it when she was little like me. It's hard to think of Mama being little. She says that everyone was little, once. She was and Pa was. I told her that was weird, and she told me it wasn't really. We all start out little and then we get big, and one day I'll be big as Pa. "Maybe bigger," she said.

I wish I'd get bigger faster. 'Cause right now I'm too small to stop Pa from hurtin' Mama, or from hurtin' me. I wanna be big enough to hurt him back.

I don't say that out loud, though. I just tell Mama that I wanna grow up fast. She smooths back my hair with that little smile on her face that she always gets when she's thinkin' real deep about somethin' and she says, "Tha's what ya think now, baby." I don't get what that means, really, so I just shrug my shoulders and keep watchin' the snow.


End file.
